


Golden Sand

by Joxmarf



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, she’s gay, the eight heroine is a lesbian okay, this is set 10000 years before botw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27463024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joxmarf/pseuds/Joxmarf
Summary: On ‘The Night of Mavra’, during the ruling of Zelda The Dauntless, statue books, registers and pamphlets with the eight heroine’s name were burnt.What made her people loathe her so much? As with her name, the reason is unknown to us.— Tesvia Avari, Introduction to the Religions of Hyrule.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Golden Sand

“Despite being a figure linked to Gerudo esoterism, information about the Eighth Heroine is scarce. Her being venerated outside the margin of conventional religions does not help data collection. For instance, Hyism condemns her cult for being related to the Yiga. How so? It is yet unknown. 

Even between members of the Clan, many ignore the existence of the Eighth Heroine, which hints that only a select minority (known as ‘the initiated’) has access to this doctrine. 

I suggest that if the Eighth Heroine is venerated among the Yiga, it is because her people turned their backs on her, excluding her from the historical march of the Gerudo. Namely, there was an active attempt to erase her from history.

On ‘The Night of Mavra’, during the ruling of Zelda The Dauntless, statue books, registers and pamphlets with the heroine’s name were burnt. 

What made her people loathe her so much? As with her name, the reason is unknown to us.” 

—  _ Tesvia Avari, Introduction to the Religions of Hyrule.  _

— 

  
  


The wind blew in an incessant murmur that eroded the world. 

Gerudo cosmology told the Earth was made of fire and sand, and that all beings' innermost desire was to return to dust. The rock, the flower, gold, and gerudokind; everything would belong to the desert. 

_ “One day the world shall all be sand dispersing on the night’s veil,” _ spoke the prophets,  _ “That is how it always has been. The grains of the sky belong to the worlds of the past.” _

However, this didn’t mean there wouldn’t be resistance to the crumbling of the world. 

The Gerudo, prideful and strong as an unyielding mountain, made the heart of the desert their home in rebellion against the destiny that awaited them. Ishra, the matriarch, was the personified strength of her people. Yet she, like those that she governed, also allowed herself to simply  _ be _ , with her own desires and ambitions. 

Being with Kara was one of those occasions. 

The moon shone, reflected on the oasis waters. Kara sat on a boulder, gazing to the west with forlorn eyes. Her hair, silver as the moon above her, snaked to the desert. 

“The Sheikah believe that in the west lies the border of the world,” she said suddenly, her gaze lost in the horizon. 

“The desert doesn’t end, the world does.”

Kara’s lips curled into a smile. 

“That makes no sense,” she pointed out, “The desert belongs to the world.” 

“The world belongs to the desert,” replied Ishra, firm. 

Kara turned to look at her, chuckling. She placed a hand on her cheek, her red eyes bright, “I missed you.” 

Ishra covered her pale hand with hers, nodding. 

She had met Kara in this oasis,  _ their  _ oasis. The first time their paths had crossed, Kara had disappeared in a cloud of smoke, startling her. 

How had she snuck past her guards? The oasis was private property, a gift from her people upon ascending the throne. She alone had access to its waters and the shade of its palms. It was an offense— an  _ insult  _ to her status as chief— for a foreigner to swim in the oasis. 

Ishra decided to take the matter into her own hands. She waited till nightfall, curious if the woman would be brave enough to return. And as the jasmine flower bloomed during the night, its corolla imitating the moon, Kara had appeared. Even now, months later, they met only when shadows covered the world. 

“How was the capital?” Kara asked, dropping her hand. 

Ishra sighed. The Kingdom of Hyrule had insisted she pilot Naboris, one of the four Divine Beasts created by the Sheikah. She denied the offer for the simple reason that her place was with her people. 

“I see…” said Kara, amused. “What did Her Majesty say upon hearing your decision?”

“She took it personally,” said Ishra. “Her noble blood does not change the fact that she is a child.”

The queen was an adolescent merely age thirteen. She assumed the throne after the death of her parents and, despite her age, she was respected and well-loved. With the guidance of the Sheikah, unconditional servants of the royal family, Hyrule prospered under a technological revolution. The oracle had predicted the future to be prosperous, if only the Calamity were to be vanquished. 

The queen took the news with surprising gravity. She ordered the Sheikah to dedicate themselves exclusively to weapon-making, prioritising the militarization of Hyrule. With the help of the Church, centuries of history were uncovered and the Master Sword was located. Having cultivated her sealing power and with The Hero wielding the sword, victory was secured. 

At least, that’s what the public believed. 

The queen didn’t want any risks. She commissioned the Sheikah to build the Divine Beasts and other devices for the arduous battle. Now, she sought four Champions to command the Beasts. 

The Gerudo, unlike Hylians, viewed the prophecy with skepticism. They believed the queen wished to spark panic between the tribes to establish her legitimacy as a ruler.  _ “It’s nationalist propaganda,” _ Uris, her eldest sister, had said, and the Gerudo agreed. And as Ishra was her people’s voice, she had refused to pilot Naboris. 

“The knight, what did he do?” asked Kara. 

The hero, Link, was a seasoned warrior aged twenty-six. From what Ishra had seen during her brief visit, he and the Council were behind the remarkable management of the country. 

“He apologised,” Ishra said, sliding her sandals off. She approached the shore of the oasis, dipping her feet in the water. “Poor man.”

“Yeah,” said Kara. She hugged her knees, resting her chin on the top. Once again, her gaze strayed to the horizon.

After a moment, Ishra said, “My sisters have an interest in an alliance with the Hylians. All possess Din’s Gift… they’re more qualified than myself to pilot the Beast.” 

Her sisters were warriors, but they had also been blessed with magic of the desert: rustic, ancient, untamed. Magic made of thunder. 

“That’ll feed the rumours,” said Kara. 

“The rumours of that  _ man _ ?” asked Ishra, acid in her voice. For a while, a man of her race, dressed in rags, had been proclaiming to be the legitimate Chief of the Gerudo. Ishra didn’t know his exact statements, and it would be a waste of time to debunk them. It was giving the liar too much credit. 

“Yeah. He keeps questioning your—”

Ishra’s hands balled into fists. 

“He  _ shouldn’t _ . He doesn’t have the right. I won the title by my own merit. My people know it.”

The ‘Dance of the Scimitars’ was the name of the duel for the title of Chief. It was unusual, for normally only a child would be blessed with the qualities of a ruler. Generosity, patience, temperance, courage: they were attributes that rarely amalgamated in one person. Oddly, both her and her sisters possessed the necessary gifts to rule, so they had dueled for the title. Despite the magical abilities of her siblings, Ishra had won. 

“Yes, but…” Kara quietened when she recognised the anger in her eyes, “nevermind.”

Both said nothing, the night wrapping them with the veil of silence. The sky was dotted with stars, a universe of ethereal light aloof to the desert. Kara got closer to Ishra and took her hand. Ishra smiled. 

“The oasis is beautiful,” Kara said, though her gaze was fixed on her. 

Ishra nodded, looking at it peripherally, “I thought about opening to the public. It’s on the path to Gerudo Town; people could rest before continuing their journey.” 

Kara frowned. This silence disturbed only by the wind's whip— wouldn’t she miss it? People brought life, life brought noise. If they were alone, only the beating of their hearts and the whisper of the desert were heard. Nothing more, as it should be. 

“Typical Ishra— always thinking of others,” her cordial tone hid the reproach of her words. “Will you ever be selfish?” 

Ishra frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you should be more selfish,” said Kara. “You’re so generous. That's costly.”

Her voice sounded odd, constrained with an emotion Ishra didn’t recognise. 

“A leader must be,” she replied. 

Kara looked away. 

“I  _ know,”  _ she said. “I just wish you didn’t have to. If you came with me…” 

Ishra shook her head, though she wished she could. Kara would never live in Gerudo Town, she had told her so. That created a breach between them. Kara appeared at dusk and left at dawn; Ishra ruled under the burning embers of the midday sun. Would they ever be together? Not without one giving up their role. For Ishra, that meant leaving her tribe. As for Kara… honestly, Ishra didn’t know why she had refused her offer. 

Kara’s hand slid up, tracing her biceps. Ishra said nothing, blushing. She liked how she touched her. Gentle, ignoring she caressed a warrior’s muscle. 

“They say the Gerudo are made of sand,” Kara said, posing her hand on Ishra’s cheek. “They lie.” 

“Sand and fire,” she corrected. 

The legend told Din had gathered a pile of sand, molding it into an image of herself. When she had finished, the Goddess gave it life with her breath of fire, creating the Gerudo. 

“Sand and fire… form crystal. Transparent, pure,” Kara mused. “I guess that’s why you’re so noble.”

Ishra frowned, wanting to add that glass shattered easily, much unlike her resolve. Glass shattered easily, and she was resolved not to. Yet, she kept her thoughts to herself. 

“The Sheikah…” Ishra said instead. “What are they made of?”

Kara’s face contorted with anger, though just a moment. 

“Of the caprice of a Goddess, I suppose,” she replied, a hint of rancor in her voice. 

“That’s how the world began, Kara,” Ishra said, leaning closer to her. “By the caprice of a Goddess.” 

She kissed her delicately, as if caressing the tip of a petal. Kara gaped with surprise, though a moment later her eyelids closed and she kissed her back with a desperate fierceness. She wrapped her arms around her waist, sliding down her burning skin.  _ Closer,  _ Ishra thought. There were no responsibilities, no titles, no kingdoms: only two women kissing in the shadows.

“You should think about it,” Kara said, sometime later. They were laying on the sand, their hands intertwined. An uncomfortable position indeed, but both refused to separate. 

“What?” asked Ishra, glancing at her. Would she again propose to run away? 

“The oasis,” she said, as if it were obvious, “you may want to keep it private.”

“Why?” she asked, though the  _ look _ Kara gave her was a reply on its own. 

—

Despite having entrances everywhere, the throne room was claustrophobic. Hypothetically, Ishra could stand and leave. However, invisible ties kept her on the throne: duty, honour. Her own pride. 

“Ishra,” said Uris, entering the room. In her hand she held a paper that was delivered without formalities. Crumbled, yellowed. Without a royal seal. 

“Who sent it?” Ishra asked, squinting at her sister. 

Uris pursed her lips, “The liar.”

Ishra got on her feet, approaching the pool behind her dais and letting the note fall in the water. With hard eyes, she watched it disintegrate, her back to the throne, “Why did you give me this?”

“People believe him,” said Uris. “He speaks outside the city walls and they  _ believe _ him.”

Ishra deciphered her sister’s intention. She wanted her to  _ do  _ something, to end the commotion with a speech, with an execution, with whatever would cease this nonsense.

“What do you want?” she asked anyway.

“Demonstrate that you’re the matriarch,” Uris said. “ _ We _ know it already, but…”

“My people do, too.”

Uris did not reply. The silence was exasperating, for the hesitation of her sister said more than any word. 

“He has Din’s Gift,” Uris said.

Ishra leaned on the pool’s border, thoughtful. Magic was a fleeting talent. Only individuals that deserve the attention of the Goddesses are granted such abilities, and if that man deserved their attention, so did hers.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“They call him Ganondorf.”

Ishra tasted the syllables. Saying it out loud felt like an anachronism. It was an ancient name, from the Era when the Goddesses still promenaded on the foundational sands of the earth. 

“The note, did you read it?” Ishra glanced at her sister, letting go of the pool’s border.

Her gaze fixed on the desert. Above, the fierce wind tore the few shade clouds into wisps. But she was not of the sky, and he was no gale. He was a man, and men bleed and die. Skin always yields to steel. 

“Yes,” Uris said, remorseless. “He wants an audience.”

“Not in my city,” said Ishra, approaching the pedestal where the Thunder Helm was placed. She held it carefully, caressing the gold halo. 

Since Ishra didn’t possess any magic, her sisters had encapsulated it in six jade stones. Versatile magic, so bestial it was surprising they had been able to tie it to an object. A single ruby was imbued with a protection spell, less potent but useful just the same. The other ruby held no power. 

Eight stones, eight sisters.

“No. On the East Ruins, he said.”

Holding the Thunder Helm, Ishra turned on her heels, intending to leave the room.

“Wait!” Uris said. Ishra stopped in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder at her. “Will you go alone? Let me go with you.”

“My scimitar is my companion,” Ishra said, and with long strides, she left the room.

Gerudo City bustled with life. The hysterical clucking of cuccos mingled with the clamouring of merchants. Mirth and spices itched her nose, but she ignored the sensation, advancing with steady steps to the entrance. Upon recognising their Chief, the Gerudo made way to let her pass, some inclining their heads respectfully. Not all, though. 

When she got to the main entrance, a guard brought her seal to her. 

Ishra stroked the animal’s hide and took the reins, tying the Thunder Helm to them. She clutched the reins firmly and, with a squeal, the seal sank in the sand, swimming through it as if it were the sea. 

Travelling on a sand seal was uncomfortable. Grains of sand pelted her skin, burning like embers. Her hands grasped the reins assiduously, and even her calloused palms resented the roughness of the leather.

When she arrived at the East Ruins, the sun had already slumped over the horizon. Delicate moonrays spilled on the desert, and the sand undulated like waves, carried by the wind.

She released the seal. Her gaze slid to the giant pillars, if one could call them that. According to geologists, the boulders were natural formations. Despite that, people believed an old race had erected them to honour their Gods. The elders had suggested carving them into statues of the sisters as symbols of a new Era. There were seven pillars, but they proposed Ishra’s statue to be made from zero.  _ “It shall exhibit our strength as a tribe,”  _ they had said.

In a desolate place, satisfying the wishes of an irrelevant man, Ishra felt everything but a sign of strength. 

She pursed her lips. Facing that man was her duty as a matriarch. Ishra took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She conjured the sight of Gerudo City, with its turquoise cascades and the gold gleam of its walls. 

“Matriarch Ishra,” a grave voice broke the silence. She opened her eyes. 

The man —  _ Ganondorf _ — stood a few meters away. Despite his size, he approached with agile, almost feline, movements. Ishra fixed her gaze on his face, pointed as a craggy cliffside ripped apart by its own gravity.

“What do you want?” Ishra asked. 

“I have Din’s Gift. Our traditions demand that I sit on the throne.” 

Ishra frowned. Gerudo males were unusual, so every time one had been born, they were granted power. That’s how it had been. Not anymore.

“That says nothing about your right to the throne,” Ishra said, slowly. “Between my sisters, Din chose me.”

“How so?” asked Ganondorf, though the amber glint in his eyes betrayed his thoughts. 

They unsheathed their swords at the same time, the steel scraping their scabbards. The determined fulgor in Ganondorf’s eyes met with the furious glint of Ishra’s.

“To the death,” said Ishra, her voice tearing the silence of the desert. 

She kept her scimitar pointed at her opponent. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her lips tensed. Ganondorf remained quiet. Only his fingers trembled, imperceptible in the darkness. 

He attacked first, arcs of steel that Ishra blocked easily.

They traced circles on the sand. Both waited for an entrance, a defective step that allowed them to break the other’s guard. 

Ishra’s sand seal, foreign to the battlefield, squealed. 

Startled by the noise, both attacked at the same time. The scimitars’ blades clashed, the  _ clangs  _ tearing the night. Ishra struck intelligently, going for the neck of her adversary. Ganondorf fought with the violence of a boar. His attacks carried an inhuman strength. 

Ishra staggered backward, barely evading the edge of his sword. With impetus, she charged towards Ganondorf, who elevated his scimitar and slit her wrist. 

Ishra got away, hissing with pain. Blood spilt from her hand to the floor.

“Yield,” Ganondorf commanded.

Ishra gritted her teeth. 

“Leave my tribe in your hands?” but before she could finish speaking, Ganondorf let go of his scimitar and tackled her.

“Never,” she said, glaring at him.

Ishra bit the inside of her cheek, ignoring the needles of pain that sunk in her skin.

“Killing you is unnecessary,” said Ganondorf. 

“It is the condition of the duel,” Ishra said. His hard eyes and the cruel twist of his lips told her everything: He hated her. Why didn’t he kill her, then?

“What if I told you Kara asked me to spare you?” 

Ishra struggled against Ganondorf’s grasp, desperate to get him off.  _ Kara _ . Days had passed since she had last gone to the oasis. Ishra had wondered what had happened to her, though it had been impossible to abandon her responsibility to look for her.

Though now it wasn’t.

The duel would be consummated by her death, and then Ganondorf would become Chief of the Gerudo. How sad that the liberation from her duties would come from her death.

“ _ What did you do to her? _ ” 

“Nothing,” said Ganondorf, and there was only disinterest honesty in her voice. “We’re... acquaintances.”

She inhaled sharply. He had won honourably. Din had chosen. There was something,  _ something _ ineffable that made her distrust him, but questioning the decision of a Goddess was unforgivable. 

Ganondorf let go of her and his gaze slid to his scimitar, half-sunken in the sand. 

Ishra got on her feet, approaching her seal calmly. Her wrist was still bleeding, though she would bandage it once she was alone. 

She untied the Thunder Helm and regarded it for a moment, lamenting its loss. The power contained on the helm trickled the tips of her fingers and, when she gave it to Ganondorf, her hands felt so painfully empty.

Ganondorf traced a lazy finger on the helm, following the pattern of the jewels. 

“Their desires are yours now, understood?” 

Ganondorf nodded. 

Ishra studied his face, thoughtful. Behind his hard expression, was there a kind soul? Ishra would bet that yes. After all, he had spared her life. The compassion he had shown— she hoped he would keep it throughout his ruling. 

“Power comes with great responsibility, but responsibility comes with great power,” she paused, grabbing the reins of her seal, “that’s where the true merit of a leader comes from.”

Her eyes fell on her scimitar, partly hidden by the sand. Ganondorf followed her gaze and picked up the weapon, holding it out to her. At that moment, they understood each other. Both knew the dangers of the desert, and both knew the necessary qualities to survive in it. The Gerudo were in good hands.

Ishra turned her gaze to the horizon. The first ray of sunlight snaked weakly in the sky. Soon, dawn would break and birds would fly to feel the heat of the sun. 

“I’ll be selfish, Kara,” Ishra thought, and with a flicker of her reins, she headed West. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks @thatsnotzelda, @miraculous-stardust and @milo for betaing! ❤️


End file.
